Before The Beginning
by jago-ji
Summary: A one shot of Ranger's life leading up to the day he met Stephanie.


Author's Notes: This is a simple little story set just before the first book. All characters belong to JE. Certainly not making any money from it. Sonomom helped with the wording of the last sentence. She has such a great way with words.

_You talk about a life  
Been searching for the key  
But can't find an answer  
To comfort me._

_I ask myself about love  
Can't even find the door  
To take me to a place  
I've never seen before._

_ Fleetwood Mac_

The dank passageway was dimly lit and smelled of wet dirt and decaying leaves. Another smell overlaid it, one he was all too familiar with. A coppery smell, a hint of something metallic that lodged in the back of the throat and made one want to hawk and spew. He hoped he wasn't too late.

The corridor was long and narrow, broken up by several side passages, each one absorbing what little light was given off by the widely spaced sconces. He glanced down one of the side passages and lifted his hand in a fist. Signal given, he turned a corner and bumped into a hurrying soldado, making the lowly soldier drop the tray he was clutching. He grunted at the man and moved on. Too much politeness would give him away. There was another well-armed soldier stationed in front of a wooden door at the end of the hall.

As he approached, the man snapped to attention. He gave a shallow nod and then a jerk of his chin at the door. The man turned and unlocked the door. Before the man could turn back around, the unsuspecting soldier was laid unconscious and hefted over a shoulder.

He slipped through the now open door with his load, quickly followed by two other men, a third remaining guard at the door. He dumped the unconscious man on the filthy floor, next to another man lying still in a pool of blood. This other man was badly beaten, bloody and bruised and cut from head to toe. He knelt and checked to see if the man was breathing. With a nod, he stood and stepped back. The two men gently lifted the bloody man up and hurried out the door and back down the hallway, carefully cradling their precious load.

The small group of five had just entered the side passageway when gunfire broke out. Giving a quick signal to his men to retreat, he dove back out into the main hallway, guns blazing.

...

He was awake but didn't open his eyes. Training and experience had instilled in him caution in all situations. He reached out with his senses. It was dark...and chilly. He was lying on something soft...and clean. The smell was antiseptic. Hospital?

He opened his eyes. The room was small and dark. The only light he could see was coming from outside a doorway. That was good. No quiet beeping, no monitor lights, so no medical hookups, which meant he wasn't in an ICU. Also good. His memory started to trickle in. The main thing he remembered was that the mission had been completed. His unit had made it out with the "package."

He started tensing his muscles, feet first. Pain was felt with the first tensing, but got increasingly worse as his exercise approached his torso. He sighed. Cracked ribs, again.

He steeled himself for the pain and sat up, emitting a sharp grunt as he did it. Before he swung his legs over, he reached between his legs and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Everything that should be there was still there, with nothing added. No bandages, no catheter. After further exploration of his body, he was relieved that the only bandages he had were around his ribs. He swung his legs over to the side, grimacing through the pain. Before he could stand, a nurse walked through the door. When she saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached back and flipped on the light.

"Good morning, Mr. Pardo. How are you feeling?" she inquired.

Pardo, he thought, my fuckin' alter ego ever since I was 'discharged' from the Army. As for 'leaving' the Army, he would stick to that story as long as Good Sam's checks kept dropping into his bank account, mission after mission.

"I've been better," he replied. "Walter Reed?" he asked, seeking confirmation of his current location.

"Yes," she replied, as she approached the bed.

"Did anyone arrive with me?"

She pressed her fingers on the inside of his wrist as she answered. "You arrived alone. However, you have visitors, but first, Dr. Upcot wants to examine you before your visitors whisk you away." She pulled a notebook and pen from her pocket and jotted down his pulse. Then she pulled back his hospital gown on his left side and examined the bandages. "The bullet was a through and through, but it chipped your third rib. Dr. Upcot wants to make sure you understand how vulnerable it is to an actual break." He grunted assent. She proceeded to get the rest of his vitals as he sat on the bed's edge.

Visitors. They certainly weren't his men or his family, and they definitely weren't a wife or even a lover. That wasn't in the cards for him; not now, maybe never. No, his visitors had to be a debriefing team. His only value to them was as an intelligence asset. He would be pumped dry for what he'd discovered on his latest mission and then he'd be sent on his way—to his other life.

...

As he drove north up I-95, leaving Washington D.C. behind, he started a mental list of things he needed to do. This last mission hadn't been particularly long, but it had been physically exhausting and mentally taxing. He needed to step up his time in the gym. When he'd been an active member of a Ranger unit, exercise and drills were routine. Now, he was alone and had to remember to make time to go to the gym with his busy schedule.

He had only one goal and that was to build his security company, which at the moment consisted of one employee—himself—and a desk and chair in his studio apartment. Every penny he earned he socked away for the business. At the rate he was going, he should be able to rent office space in a couple of months, and start hiring a few employees in a year or so. After that, the sky was the limit. Until then, he'd continue to establish himself and his carefully tailored "badass" reputation in Trenton.

His stomach growled and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since leaving D.C. hours ago. It was Sunday. A slow smile stretched his face. Sunday dinners at his parents' were one of the main reasons he'd chosen Trenton as the place to start up his business. He could have set up anyplace, but, oddly enough, he'd wanted to be close to family, but not too close. He loved his family but wanted enough distance to serve as a ready excuse not to be expected to be at his mother's beck and call. He found her...call...too hard to ignore. Something ingrained from childhood. Trenton was just far enough away from Newark to do the trick.

His phone rang. Vincent Plum Bail Bonding Company. After a few short minutes of conversation with Vinnie's office manager, he disconnected, shaking his head. Connie Rosolli was calling in a favor. He owed her for several reasons, one being that she'd fought for him with Vinnie, convincing Vinnie to give him a chance at fugitive apprehension when he first came to town. He made the exit for Trenton, leaving Newark for another day.

Twenty minutes later, with a deep sigh, he turned the car into the diner's parking lot. The blue plate special would have to do as a replacement for his mother's pot roast, Cuban style. He eased his body slowly into the booth, being careful not to jar his ribs.

He knew it was her the moment she entered the diner. And he knew his life would never be the same. She held the key, and even if she was willing to unlock the door, he didn't know if he could go through.


End file.
